Light and Dark
by firewings86
Summary: Bo goes to find Tamsin after the Yule party, figuring they've both got to sleep somewhere. Oneshot. Valkubus.


**Oneshot, set immediately after 4x08, so we can all just forget 4x09 ever happened. :(**

* * *

It's dark, and Kenzi has gone inside. All that's left to Bo is her confusion, her nerves, and the distant echo of Tamsin's footsteps on the concrete. Truth be told, thoughts of the Wanderer, the mysterious black smoke and her uncertain fate are so distracting that she isn't even annoyed at being forced out of her own house, be it on Yule or any other night. It seems so trivial considering the grand scheme of her problems. So she can't go inside; that's fine. She'll sleep somewhere else. Realistically, she'll probably be all right sleeping in the car, even. _I can handle whatever the night can throw at me._ She tries to make herself believe it.

Admittedly, Bo can't say she relishes the idea of being alone out here all night, and she likes the idea of waking up alone in the car—again—even less. And where is Tamsin even going? For the first time tonight, with some guilt, Bo considers that she hasn't even asked Tamsin how she got here, where she slept on the way, or if she's gotten another truck. Some concern for the girl's well-being is the least she can offer after all that heartfelt confession, she guesses.

Bo starts the car and heads off toward where she thinks she saw Tamsin walking. It isn't hard to find her; she hasn't gotten far, just about two blocks. The Valkyrie is trudging along with her hands in her pockets, looking uncharacteristically… somber? Heavy?

"Hey, wait up," Bo calls from the car. Tamsin lifts her gaze from the sidewalk to look Bo in the eye. She stops, stands still, crosses her arms. Something about her eyes catches Bo off-guard, even from meters away. They're piercing, striking in their lightness, and somehow guarded and vulnerable all at once. Bo fumbles for words and grips the steering wheel tighter. "I was just, uh, wondering where you're going for the night."

Tamsin's eyebrows scrunch up—briefly, but still. She looks confused, or maybe surprised that Bo cares. It almost stings to know that Tamsin thinks she could be that heartless or self-absorbed. Why wouldn't she check up on her friend? That's what good friends do, she thinks, not without a little leftover bitterness.

"I dunno," Tamsin says with a shrug, her tone flat and bored. "Maybe a motel or something."

Bo puts on her brightest smile. It usually works when trying to win someone over to her line of thinking. "And waste the money? It feels nice out tonight, don't you think? I was gonna camp in the car."

Tamsin gives Bo another look that seems to say _Yeah, and?_ She's keeping herself guarded; that's obvious. It's part of her personality, Bo supposes, and it won't magically go away even if she is a little softer around the edges this go-around.

"I was just thinking you might want to come with," Bo says.

Tamsin looks down, tries to hide the smile that flits across her lips. "Hm," she says, musing. "I guess. But it is so your fault if we get attacked and killed out here."

Bo crosses her heart and grins. "I'll take full responsibility. Promise."

Tamsin walks over and hops into the passenger side of the car. Bo's heart catches in her throat at the sight of that blonde hair bouncing against her back and glinting in the moonlight, the scent of perfume and leather. She and Tamsin have never been close, but damned if she isn't attractive. Bo can admit when she likes what she sees.

"Quit checking me out and drive," Tamsin says with a smirk. _Shit. Was I staring?_ Bo doesn't have a good comeback, so she obediently hits the gas, a little dumbstruck and a little embarrassed. She pops a U-turn in the middle of the road—no one's out at this time of night anyway—and heads back to the house. She pulls around the dark side, away from at least some of the commotion in the kitchen and the living room. No telling how long all of those crazies will be awake, and she'll never get any sleep past a certain noise level.

Tamsin starts taking off her jacket. Bo eyes her, but discreetly this time, just curious. _Oh_. She puts it back on, backwards, using it as a kind of makeshift blanket.

"If you're cold," Bo says, "I'm sure I could knock on the door and get Kenzi to bring a blanket out."

"Oh, no, I'm fine like this." Tamsin leans against her seat, lets her head roll back and looks up at the stars. A few moments of silence stretch into the chirping of crickets in the grass.

"Thank you," Bo blurts. Tamsin looks over at her, unmoving save for an inquisitive eyebrow lift.

"What?"

"Just for…you know. Having my back and all."

There's that smile again, the brief, vulnerable one that Bo can't remember noticing until somewhat recently. She can't unsee it. It startles her how well she can read the Valkyrie now—sometimes, anyway, selectively—after months of never seeing anything in her but cold, derisive hostility.

"No problem," Tamsin says, shifting in her seat. "Least I can do and all after…after all I did." Guilt washes over her face. This was the last thing Bo meant to make her feel. She shifts sideways to face her and reaches out to touch her cheek, concerned.

"Hey, we're forgetting about all of that, remember?"

Tamsin glances away, but smiles. It's a faint, awkward smile, but a real one. "Yeah."

"Good." Bo's fingers trail from Tamsin's cheek down to her jaw. They brush against her neck for a fraction of a second before Tamsin grabs her hand and squeezes it.

"I just—" Tamsin starts and cuts herself off, frowning now. She makes a frustrated noise, a sort of huffy sigh. Bo searches her face, trying to understand her, waiting for her to explain, but Tamsin just shakes her head and looks down. "I just…"

She edges closer, pressed sideways against her seat back, and tugs Bo closer by her hand. She leans in and kisses her, soft and shy. _Shy_ isn't a word Bo would have normally ever used to describe Tamsin, and it's still odd to see now, but then she knows what guilt can do to a person. She's lived plagued with it, too. For years, even.

"I know," Bo says, running her fingers down the sides of Tamsin's face, tucking her hair behind her ears. "I know."

Tamsin kisses her again. It's deeper this time—desperate, somehow. Her mouth is open and soft, and she tastes like mint and alcohol. Bo stifles a little moan when Tamsin bites her bottom lip and tugs on it, then dives back in for another kiss, running her tongue over Bo's, no pretense, no exchange of chi, just themselves. Tamsin's fingers tremble on her neck.

When the kiss trails off, Bo's eyes fly open and lock on to Tamsin's. The Valkyrie's brow is wrinkled in an almost puppy-like plea. Bo has no idea what to make of it. On one hand, her stomach drops at those wide, anxious green eyes, everything hopeful and open about Tamsin's body language, everything in her posture and expression begging Bo to love her. She doesn't love her. She knows this—not the way Tamsin wants her to, not now, anyway, and she doesn't want to break her heart. But on the other hand…

Tamsin is so beautiful under those fingers of moonlight breaking from beneath the clouds. Her breathing, the curves of her body… Bo is a succubus. It's not in her nature to deny herself this. She can't. She grabs Tamsin's jacket, jerks it off her arms and throws it in the floorboard. She kisses her, takes her chi, claws at her back and kisses her again. Tamsin's shoulder blades twist under her hands as the pair try to position themselves around the uncomfortable space between their seats. Bo grabs the back of her head and kisses her harder.

"Let's get in the back," she says against Tamsin's lips, her voice husky and commanding. Tamsin nods vigorously, her chest heaving. They clamber over their seats and fall into the leather kissing. The kisses are shorter and more frenzied now, both of them panting in between. Bo switches her focus to Tamsin's neck, sucks on it, trails hard kisses down to her shoulder, bites that delicate skin. Tamsin's breaths are fast and ragged against Bo's ear. She loves it. She loves making her react this way and feeling her writhe underneath her succubus touch. Her hands make their way under Tamsin's loose white shirt, trace her abs, and tease the skin just under her bra. She squeezes at that damned spongy roadblock, hard, and Tamsin jerks in surprise and clings even harder to Bo, digging her nails into her back.

"Harder," Bo whispers in her ear. Tamsin obeys. She slides her hands under Bo's shirt in return and rakes her nails down her skin, leaving marks and tingling hot lines. She kisses her, bites her lips, pulls her hair. It's all Bo can do not to rip all of her clothes off and take her right here. She takes her chi and swallows it, savors its warm, sparking energy.

She could, of course. Have her now. She could probably seduce her in seconds at this point, take everything she wants. The wanting nearly consumes her, deep, primal.

She pulls back and sees the answering hunger in Tamsin's eyes. Her stomach drops again as the separation forces her to her senses. Sex to her is like cheesecake: rich, heavy, filling, to be enjoyed for no particular reason, just because it's there, at the end of a long, hard day, etc. It's fantastic and delicious. Delicious, indeed.

But it wouldn't be the same to Tamsin. It's not a snack for her. It's not even drunken party fun. No, it's written all over her face: it would be _real_ to her. Real connections, real feelings. Bo isn't ready to ruin this precarious new thing between them—friends? Friends with benefits?—and isn't ready to deal with the consequences, so, as hard as it is, with her body burning for more, she stops, untangles herself from _her_.

Wordlessly she leans back against the corner of the seat, lying down as best she can, and pulls Tamsin with her. They're crooked and wedged together in a too-small space, but neither complains. Tamsin drapes her arm over Bo's waist and snuggles into the crook of her neck, and Bo can't help but smile. She's so warm, and their curves fit together like puzzle pieces.

Tamsin closes her eyes and Bo follows suit. They lie there until the minutes start to blur together—minutes, hours?—and Bo finds herself finally, gently drifting off. Tamsin's breathing is slow and rhythmic, comforting against the now-silent night. _It must be late_, Bo thinks, sleep weighing heavily on her.

She isn't sure if she's still awake enough to trust her ears. She might be imagining things, or she might be dreaming, but the last thing she hears, between those long slow breaths and before the blackness takes over, is the sound of Tamsin's voice. It's faint, whispered, clearly not intended for her ears: "I love you."

Bo stiffens, then relaxes again, too tired to reflect on it. She absently runs her fingertips over Tamsin's arms, then slows, then stills. Her hand falls.

It's dark, and both of them are asleep.


End file.
